There is someone at his table.
He almost laughs in disbelief, it has been a while since he's been taken by surprise after all.
He walks closer to his table at the very back of the library, a recessed space whose small archway is at the end of the last wall of books. To access it he has to walk straight through the tables in the front, eighteen rows of tall shelves that part in the middle to long plush Ravenclaw blue carpet, and along the back wall of the library to his left.
In his four years here, he is the only one to have found it. (Hermione had found it in her first year, he reminiscences.) His heart pangs with the loss of his old life once more.
Another breath, he dispels the creeping memories, and focuses on the intruder. The other Lions aren't very welcoming to his weirdness so he has this private sanctuary warded. Nothing special ofcourse, nothing serious, it is Hogwarts after all, but it will not allow anyone with any harmful intentions to him to even notice the little alcove, whether he is currently occupying the space or not.
So it is not someone who wants to hurt him, or even someone his Magic considers will bother or annoy him. He is growing ever more curious, so he continues on. This is his table after all.
It is a tiny person, the first glance reveals. A firstie? Amusement overtakes curiosity. Ofcourse. A curious litte baby snake, from the color on his robes. Well, this will be easy enough. He continues forward.
The dark brown that meets his green knocks the breath out of his chest. He is unprepared, wholly, completely, utterly lost for what's in front of him.
Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort.
His lungs cannot pull in enough air, his magic tightening up into a pulsing core, static crackling for one second between his fingers before he pulls them into a tight fist and calls forth every Occlumency practice he has ever had the displeasure of experiencing to quell the rising tides of now unfamiliar emotion crashing like waves through him.
Tom fucking Riddle. The firstie encroaching into his private library table.
Lord Voldemort. His what? Future study buddy? He almost laughs out loud at the absurd thought.
Dark eyes have never let go of his own yet. He forces in a steady yet deep breath, trying to replenish the lack of oxygen since his body apparently forgot how to breathe for the last ten? fifteen? seconds.
And Tom Riddle still looks at him, stares, he has not blinked once.
"Hello, I am Harry Potter. Regular occupant of this table for the last four years, hopeful occupant for the next three. And you?"
YOU ARE READING
let me go, hold me close (tomarry)
Romance"Onwards," Dumbledore had said. Harry thought Onwards meant towards his lost family. And he had wanted that bad. Onwards it is, he decides in one moment and finds himself seated in a moving train in the next. Harry assumed it would take him to his l...
